


Sometimes We Have to Fight for Happily Ever After

by dooliandrake



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games)
Genre: Cinderella AU, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, because reasons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-12
Updated: 2016-10-12
Packaged: 2018-08-22 00:32:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 10,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8266145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dooliandrake/pseuds/dooliandrake
Summary: A Dragon Age Cinderella AU without the pumpkin, and in which the fairy godmother isn't exactly a fairy.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I got a little emotional over this. Please enjoy <3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris goes to a royal party and catches the eye of the prince.

 

Fenris had to constantly fight the urge to bow to the well-dressed lords and ladies surrounding him. Just for one night, he had slipped away and stolen a few sweet hours of freedom. He felt lighter, more vulnerable, without the collar around his neck or Danarius’ eyes on him. He kept looking over his shoulder, feeling watched.

After his third time accidentally bowing and backing out of someone’s way—drawing yet another suspicious stare—Fenris realized he’d spilled his wine. A cheerful servant was already running forward to clean up the splash of red. It had gotten onto his boots too. Sighing, he retreated to the refreshment table for a second glass of wine. He so rarely tasted wine in Tevene Hall—it was not at all fitting for a slave to taste anything his master was worthy of drinking. Fenris set aside the glass and tugged self-consciously at his sleeve. Flemeth had gifted him the suit—with some invisible strings attached, he was sure—and although it fit perfectly, he still felt exposed. The icy white brands that laced his entire body could not be completely hidden. They showed at his wrists, between the gloves and the sleeves, on his throat, and the two strands that curled up his chin and ended beneath his lower lip. He knew that they drew more than a few curious glances. He was beginning to regret this now. He was going to regret it even more in the morning. Danarius would notice that he was not in the bedroom. What if Danarius had wished to take him to bed tonight and Fenris wasn’t there? He shivered to think what he would have to do as penance tomorrow if so. He almost left then and there.

He was so consumed in worrying, that Fenris did not notice the slight murmur as the fluttering crowd parted to let the prince pass. Hawke, the handsome, listless prince, made a dramatic figure with his broad shoulders and solid chest. He was well-built, but without the hard, stern features that accompanied many with his build. His face was open, too prone to smile for his mother’s tastes, and he was too familiar with those in stations beneath him. It endeared many to him. Countless lords approached him with their daughters in tow. Single duchesses of all sorts hung on his arm dramatically. He would listen to them and then kindly discard them and move on to the next set. He was genuine, and that was a trait so uncommon in the upper class.

He had spotted Fenris from across the room and recognized him as a stranger. Not only was Fenris unmistakable with his white hair and the pale markings on his chin, but he stood out rather pathetically. He was not in his element, and it was painfully clear to someone so familiar with the setting as Hawke was. Hawke was intrigued. He watched the stranger bow to a fellow guest, and not a lord’s almost disdainful bow, but he folded hastily as servant would—a very low servant. The Hawke family didn’t even have servants who scraped like that. Hawke thought perhaps here was a lord who hadn’t been raised as a lord—this man must have worked hard to earn his rank—here was a man with whom Hawke could find interesting conversation. He was starved for interesting conversation at these events.

He hadn’t expected Fenris to be so flustered. No family name or assumed title. Just Fenris, he introduced himself. He bowed again, shifting into a proper lord’s bow just in time. When Hawke stepped closer to converse, Fenris snatched his glass of wine from the refreshment table and clung to it as though it were his lifeline. No matter how Hawke pressed, he could get nothing else from the strange guest. No family name, no clue as to where he lived, nothing. Hawke could tell he was lingering a little too long. The flock of suitors was swelling and crowding just behind him, but he couldn’t let it go.

He was tired of them. Taking one of Fenris’ hands in his own, he took the glass from him with the other hand, depositing it on the table before leading him towards the dance floor.

Fenris reddened slightly, eyeing the people who had been waiting to speak to the prince. Not only was the clock getting dangerously near midnight, when Flemeth had told him that the spell would fade and his fine suit would unravel again into his slave’s garb, but also—the way the prince looked at him. Fenris felt uncomfortable under that gaze. He might have been enjoying it then, but it would not be good if too much attention were paid to the details of Fenris’ face. He must never be recognized—and he was so damningly easy to recognize.

The prince, with his palm pressed firmly against the solid area on Fenris’ back just below his ribs, led as naturally as if he had been born dancing. Though Fenris could dance either part, he found it easier than ever to follow the prince’s movements. Danarius’ dancing lessons were thorough, and he was hasty to discipline Fenris for trying to lead or failing to trust his partner. A misstep was highly punishable, and Fenris feared making such grave mistakes. With the prince, Fenris moved with only the slightest hesitation, an action that Hawke interpreted as shyness. Moments after pulling slightly as though to lead, Fenris flinched and dropped his gaze to the floor.

Hawke barely broke the light conversation he was trying to maintain, but he saw the fear that flew across the man’s stunningly green eyes. He couldn’t make it out. Who was this Fenris, and where was he from?

Just as the hands of the clock approached midnight, Fenris ducked outside. He had managed to dodge the prince only minutes ago. Hawke had been immediately surrounded by nobles and proposed suitors—he couldn’t follow Fenris without being rude. Yet Fenris glanced wistfully over his shoulder. Despite his uneasiness, it had been pleasant. And Hawke had made him smile—he never smiled. He pulled off his gloves, glancing up to assess which direction he would have to run on his way back to Danarius’ estate. As he shuffled quickly down the stairs, the clock began to toll midnight.

“Fenris!”

He whirled, eyes wide in horror, to see Hawke just exiting the palace.

“Wait!”

Without a word, Fenris turned and ran, dropping one of his white gloves as he did so. He only just made it into the bushes that marked the outer edge of the royal garden before the fine suit melted away into his slave’s clothes once more. Fenris stumbled and fell onto his knees, hand moving automatically to his throat. All was as it had been, complete with the weight of the iron collar around his neck. Fenris only paused a moment to touch the metal wistfully. He could not remove it on his own. He pushed himself to his feet and ran once more, with Hawke’s voice carrying on the wind behind him, and fear of punishment even closer.

He slunk into Danarius’ chambers, ever so quietly. Danarius turned over in his bed, and Fenris dropped to the floor, knees jarring painfully, only to realize that Danarius was merely turning in his sleep. He crept to the foot of the bed, where he slept when not wanted on a small worn mattress. Even for his short stature, it wasn't long enough to stretch out on, so he slept curled up. It helped him stay warm, as well. It was cold on the stone floor and his thin blanket helped little.

“Fenris,” Danarius mumbled, just as Fenris was calming his still pounding heartbeat. “Did you not hear me earlier?”

“No, Master. I'm sorry, Master.”

Fenris crawled to kneel beside the bed.

“You'd best be more alert in the future. But come, I desire your warmth.”

From his reclined position on his side, Danarius gestured sleepily. Recognizing his master's desire, Fenris disrobed, shivering as much from nervousness as the cold. At least the warmth would be mutual—Fenris took what little consolation he could as he climbed up beside the magister.

Danarius was too sleepy to really need many attentions. His hands greedily ran over Fenris’ skin, sparks of magic activating his brands. Fenris bit his lip to keep from vocalizing his pain. When Danarius finally lay still, Fenris sat up on an elbow and stroked his master's hair and pressed tiny cold kisses to his neck until he knew Danarius was asleep. It was a familiar routine, though Danarius’ magic had been more painful than usual. It was still hardly enough to be worth considering. Fenris only hoped that his punishment for neglecting his duties would extend no further. It was unlikely. He slid down and pressed himself against Danarius’ bare back. His skin crawled, but this was part of his duty. This was his purpose. He sighed and nuzzled his forehead into his master's hair, lying one arm across him. At least it was warm and the mattress was comfortable. The lilting music from his last waltz with the prince played softly in his memory as he sighed and let himself drift to sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How Fenris got to go to the party at the palace, and how prince Hawke has no trouble finding him.

Fenris was awake at the first slight movement beneath him. Danarius still slept, but now Fenris was wide awake. Fenris closed his eyes and thought back over the previous evening. His suffering had driven him outside, whispering to the inanimate features of the manor gardens. He had not eaten for the full day, a punishment for a slight offense, he had already forgotten what. It was one of Danarius’ whims. If it had been a true mistake, he would not have forgotten. He rarely made the same mistake twice. Danarius could be unpredictable, and Hadriana downright cruel, and Fenris feared both.

Danarius was away, returning late, and Hadriana had been looking for him, doubtless eager to do what she liked with her mentor gone. Fenris wasn't allowed to retaliate, but no rule prevented him from avoiding her. In the garden, he could run his fingers across the cold stone statues and the cool leaves of the plants, envying them their peaceful existence.

In a suitably isolated corner, he had sunk to his knees and buried his face, tangling his fingers in the grass blades.

“How much is it to ask for a few hours of relief?” He moaned, quietly, lest he be overheard. “If I could just feel once what it means to be my own person.” He'd indulged in a single shuddering sob, something he would never have done otherwise, but he was weak and tired. His collar was heavy with the weight of a future that would never improve. Even if he continued to be as he was now, favored as Danarius’ prize slave, someday he would be too old and he would be discarded to sweat away at manual labor until he dropped dead from exhaustion. And he would be happy with that fate.

“Just a few hours, eh?”

He had cried out at the voice just beside him, but he had looked up to see a strange woman with wrinkled features. Despite the wry twist of her mouth, she didn't look cruel.

“How may I serve you?” He'd babbled. He'd thought perhaps she was a guest, taking a walk in the gardens. Danarius had few friends, but he frequently entertained.

“My name is Flemeth and I have no relationship with your master,” the woman had said. “Now get up and stop groveling.” Fenris obeyed, as he had been trained. Guest or not, she was no servant.

“While the master's away, the wolf may play,” Flemeth said, her smile bringing a generous relief of crow's feet into existence at the corners of her eyes.

“Danarius won't be back until late,” she said, “and he will not need you before midnight certainly. There is a party being given at the palace. You know where that is?”

Confused, he had nodded. It was not far, if one took the road through the forest.

“I have an invitation, but I won't be using it,” she said, producing a shimmering envelope. “Why don't you go?” She held it out to him.

Fenris didn't speak. It had to be a joke. Was this the part where he was supposed to laugh?

“But of course, you can't go looking like that!” She had laughed. Like a witch. But if she were a witch, then she was unlike anything Fenris had expected. She had touched a slender finger to his throat and he had felt the weight of the collar disappear. He had blinked in surprise and put a hand to his throat. It was gone. With a wave of her hands and a chuckle, she transformed his clothing. Fenris had found himself looking down at a crisp black suit, finer than anything he had ever been allowed to touch.

She had seemed dissatisfied. With a touch, the black of his coat had changed to a golden yellow. He had held his hands up, fingers spread in the white gloves that fit him perfectly. He had been unsure what to say to this strange woman.

“No need to say anything,” she had said, taking his arm and turning him to face the wall. “Let's just say this is a favor for an old friend.” A piece of the wall had melted into an iron gate that swung slowly outward.

She had grabbed his arms with surprisingly firm hands and looked at him closely.

“The spell will only last until midnight,” she said, “so you must leave before then, understand? No matter what, you have to be gone by midnight. I have enchanted the room where your master sleeps so he thinks you asleep when he returns, but I can't answer for anything that may happen after.” She had turned him back around then, and given him a gentle shove through the gate.

Emboldened, Fenris had run. With the security of knowing he would not be missed, he grasped blindly at the chance to experience another life he would never know. Because Danarius spurned and avoided anyone or anything to do with the royal family, the chance of being recognized was almost nothing. It had been terrifying, but in a different way than Danarius was terrifying. It hadn't been entirely unpleasant, and Hawke—the prince, of all people. His eyes had burned into Fenris’ soul. He ached.

Before Danarius was fully awake, a timid servant was knocking at the door. Danarius growled, sitting up and throwing Fenris aside. Fenris lost his balance and tumbled from the bed. He collected himself into a tight ball and huddled out of the way as Danarius rolled himself from bed and pulled a dressing gown around his shoulders.

“Fenris, the door!” He thundered. Fenris scrambled to his feet and went to admit the fearful servant who came in, bowing low, with apologies for disturbing the master.

“Sir, the prince is here to see you.”

“What is that royal swine doing here?”

Fenris’ blood ran cold. Danarius would order him in attendance, he would be recognized, the prince would say something, and Fenris’ body would be unrecognizable once Danarius was through with him. He heard nothing more of Danarius’ brief conversation with the servant, only knew that there was shouting and cursing involved.

He was jerked back to reality.

“Fenris!”

He closed the door behind the hurriedly retreating servant.

“Wear the black and silver armor,” Danarius said, “it is the most revealing. If I must entertain his royal stuffiness, I will have you looking at your most impressive.” Fenris scurried into the adjoining closet to dress as Danarius robed himself.

Fenris was thankful to be ignored as Danarius muttered darkly over the inconvenience.

When they entered the room, Fenris saw a slight flicker cross Hawke’s face on seeing him and his heart sank. He had been recognized. Hawke turned his attention to Danarius, who didn't seem to have noticed anything. Fenris swallowed, feeling the collar cold against his throat as he settled into position alongside his master. He winced ever so slightly as Danarius introduced him. Why, oh why had he used his real name when introducing himself to the prince?

Unexpectedly, Hawke showed no sign of recognition. As was customary, he did not address Fenris. As Fenris slowly realized that the prince was not going to give him away, he noticed also that the prince was floundering in his conversation. From his position alongside Danarius, Fenris could see his master's smug smile as he smoothly navigated the small talk. Hawke's eyes flicked to Fenris more often than was necessary.

Danarius noticed, too. Eager to display Fenris to his many advantages, he snapped his fingers and Fenris stepped closer. Placing his chin in Danarius’ waiting fingers, he let the man pull his face closer until their lips met. He allowed only as much feeling as Danarius expected, stopping as soon as Danarius allowed him.

Hawke made an interested noise that could be taken as approval, but Fenris heard an undertone of anger. And then he saw the white glove in the prince’s hands, twisted between his nervous fingers, but recognizable. Much too small for Hawke, it was the glove that Fenris had dropped in his hurry to flee. He clenched his jaw. It was only a matter of time before Hawke approached him. And then suddenly the prince had other matters to attend to and then he was gone.

Danarius shrugged.

“No clue what that was all about. Blubbering fool had nothing to say. Came here on a whim. Ha!”

Fenris dipped his head and responded with a small smile of his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you're enjoying this. :) I know I had a wonderful time writing it!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The prince and Danarius go hunting, and Fenris takes down the kill.

The prince came again a few days later. Fenris hadn't pleased Danarius the previous night. He had tried, but Danarius was in a bad mood and Fenris had been distracted. The first order of the morning was a beating to make it clear that Danarius would get what he wanted—Fenris’ full attention. Until Fenris could make it up to him, each morning would follow the same routine. Once he had been beaten six mornings in a row, though Fenris believed Danarius had simply been testing his limits. It had been torture to take it without trying to defend himself. He could usually do well enough the following night, so he wasn't too worried. Danarius left him to break his fast alone in his cell. Fenris gingerly reached around to feel the slick of the blood on his shoulder blades. 

Hadriana interrupted him, pulling his food away.

“Have you been bad?” She taunted, “Danarius is too gentle with a creature like you.” She dangled his breakfast in front of him.

“You have to beg for it,” she said. “I know you're hungry.”

“Please, Hadriana,” Fenris groaned. “Don't make me do this.”

“You know what I want. Be a good dog now.” She picked up a boiled egg and offered it to him. When Fenris didn't move, she kicked his knee. Eventually, she would get her way. He was eager to please his master, but with her he was obstinate, refusing to give in until pain or hunger forced him. Danarius turned a blind eye, accepting it as proof that Fenris was loyal to him only. Let Hadriana try, but Fenris would never jump to do her bidding.

He had only been allowed a few bites when Fenris heard voices. Danarius was returning, followed by Hawke. They were talking as though they were fast friends, though Fenris knew better. He collected himself from the sprawl that Hadriana had reduced him to and kept his forehead to the floor.

Hawke said hardly a word as Danarius explained the situation. They were going hunting. Fenris was to accompany them. He was released and ran to Danarius’ quarters to dress quickly in his armor as Danarius and the prince went to choose their horses. He winced with each step as the fabric chafed his fresh wounds. When he rejoined his master, his face smoothed into the expressionless mask he customarily wore. Hawke eyed him, but said nothing as Danarius selected a dusky mare for the prince’s mount. Fenris wondered if Hawke persisted in coming simply because of him. If so, the prince was wasting his time.

Fenris loped alongside the horses, his bare feet soundless on the forest floor. When Danarius left for a moment to scout for their quarry, Hawke turned to Fenris.

“You  _ are  _ the one from the party, aren't you? You ran away. You left your glove.”

Avoiding Hawke's gaze, Fenris shifted uncomfortably and nodded once. Hawke reached inside his jacket and produced the glove. He offered it to Fenris. Fenris backed away, shaking his head.

“Forget everything,” he muttered. “You see what I am.”

“I don't care.”

“I am  _ property _ . Even if that were acceptable on its own, I belong to Danarius. He would not part with me. I am valuable to him.”

“It would not seem so from what I have seen.”

“It would be best if you did not return here again.”

Fenris clamped his mouth shut and turned away. A moment later Danarius approached, trotting his bay.

“I've found a boar,” he said proudly.

“We didn't bring weapons for a boar,” Hawke said dubiously, raising his bow. “You said we were hunting deer.”

“That is not an issue. Come on!” Danarius grinned gleefully.

They found it cornered against a stone outcropping. The boar snorted, rolling its eyes at them. Hawke pulled his horse back a few steps. He was brave, but not stupid.

“Disarm yourself, Fenris,” Danarius said, never taking his eyes from the beast. Fenris did as he was told, dropping his greatsword in the grass.

“What are you doing, Danarius?” Hawke asked sharply.

“Take it down,” Danarius ordered. Fenris ran forward without a heartbeat’s hesitation.

“No!”

The boar tossed its head, its menacing tusk just missing as Fenris dodged. As the boar turned to strike again, Fenris’ brands lit and he leapt into the creature, his arms ghosting blue. Hawke opened his eyes slowly and saw Fenris standing over the dead boar, a mass of bloody flesh in his fist.

Danarius laughed, a deep throated rumble, and turned his horse back to the manor.

“Fenris will follow with the kill,” he said. “Let us return. We will feast on it tomorrow, if you will honor me with another visit.” And he took off. Hawke followed, with a last worried glance over his shoulder.

Fenris struggled with the heavy boar. He was strong, but he was lightheaded, having lost too much blood that morning, and the armor on his back kept reopening his cuts. He had been bleeding most of the morning. Several hours later, he struggled into the kitchen.

Hawke was there. Danarius thought he had left, but the servants had let him into the kitchen, where was waiting impatiently.

“Not a word to your master,” Hawke whispered conspiratorially to the servants in the kitchen. None of them had any love for Danarius or any grudge against Fenris, so they hardly watched as Hawke took the elf’s arm and pulled him to the washbasin. Fenris wordlessly scrubbed the blood from his hands as Hawke hovered over his shoulder.

Fenris hadn’t even finished yet when he collapsed. Hawke just barely caught him before he hit the floor. “Where is his room?” Hawke asked the nearest cook. The servant explained that Fenris’ room was with the master. He had none of his own.

“I need hot water, and something to clean him with,” Hawke said. The servant nodded and led him to the servants’ quarters. The common washroom was small, but Danarius would never come here. Hawke spread a rough towel over a bench and laid Fenris down gently. He struggled some with the clasps, but managed to remove Fenris’ armor and tunic. Fenris’ back was a mess of cuts and blood, marring the swirling designs of his brands.

“What is this?” Hawke muttered, tracing a line running along Fenris’ arm. Hawke dipped the cloth that had been left for him into the hot water and started cleaning the elf’s back. Fenris’ breathing was even, if shallow. It hitched as Hawke ran the cloth over the cuts.

Hawke stopped a servant passing through the room.

“Are all the staff here servants?” He asked. “Are you paid fairly?”

“We cannot complain,” the woman said. “‘E’s not a servant though.” She gestured to Fenris. “Be careful with that un. He's a slave, and right valuable at that. But if the masser sees you're fixin’ ‘im up, it'll just be worse fer him. We're not to interfere.”

“Owning slaves is illegal,” Hawke said.

“Oh the papers’ll say he's a servant, but he ain't. He so much as looks outside the manor, it's three days in isolation wit no food ner water.”

“Will he get in trouble here?”

“He may. It’d be safer you leave him in the kitchen and never think on ‘im again. ‘E’s here for life I'm afraid.”

“And there's no way to prove he's not a servant? Can I help him?”

“You'll just hurt him if you try,” the woman said. “Danarius won't let him go for nothing.”

Hawke frowned. He was determined to do something, but this was going to be trickier than he had anticipated. He gathered the unconscious elf in his arms and carried him back to the kitchen.

“He collapsed and has been lying here ever since,” he said to the nearest servant. “I was never here.”

The girl nodded. “Of course, sir!”

Hawke walked slowly on his way back through the forest. Danarius never really mingled in the royal circles, despite receiving invitations to most events. He had never drawn much attention to himself, but this was probably why. He would need to find some way to wrest Fenris from his grasp. Hawke couldn't be certain that the attraction he'd felt at the party was mutual, but at the very least, Fenris deserved to be released from slavery.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Hawke learns more about Danarius from his mother.

Fenris woke up feeling very disoriented. He had fainted, he recalled. And Hawke had been there. That sounded bad. Danarius would be furious with him. He rolled over to get onto his knees.

He was still in the kitchen. Hawke was nowhere to be seen. The carcass of the boar had been removed, and Fenris was shirtless. He looked around frantically. His tunic and armor lay to the other side of him. He dressed quickly and splashed water on his face. Danarius would be wanting him.

“You took your time, Fenris,” Danarius said when Fenris finally found him in his study. He lounged with a book propped against his knee.

“I apologize. I was…”

“The servants said you passed out in the kitchen,” Danarius said with a wave of his hand. “Really, you should have accepted breakfast from Hadriana. She was just looking out for you, you know.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Yes,  _ Master, _ ” Danarius corrected.

“Master.”

“Hadriana is waiting for you in her chamber. If you're hungry, I suggest you accept what she offers you. There will be nothing else, and I would like to retire early tonight.”

Fenris folded into the deep bow Danarius had taught him and left. His feet were heavy as he made his way to Hadriana’s rooms, dreading  what she would require of him tonight. He was almost ready to do whatever she asked, if only because it was easier than fighting at this point.

As he hesitated before the door, he sighed. If he gave in easily this once, he would find it harder on him in the future when he resisted her. He knocked and admitted himself when he heard Hadriana call.

She was clothed in nothing but a thin robe that clung to her body. So it would be one of those nights. He folded his arms silently.

“So you still think you can fight me?” She said, beckoning him closer. “Aren't you hungry?”

It was two hours later he staggered into Danarius’ bedroom, limbs stiff from kneeling. His head throbbed, but his belly was full. The food Hadriana had offered was better than usual, and there had been more of it. Even the magic she had used on him to keep him from moving or speaking was only a dull ache in his memory now. He half hoped Danarius would call him to bed. His body was sore and he would have liked to sleep on his master's comfortable mattress.

Danarius was already there, sitting at his desk and writing something.

“Ah, there you are, Fenris,” he said, only barely glancing at him. “I was hoping you'd come soon. I am sore from riding today. If you would massage my shoulders as I finish this correspondence.”

Fenris obeyed, though his knees shook.

“What do you think of the prince, Fenris?”

“Think?” How could he put into words what he thought? How could he formulate a suitably indifferent response.

“He eyes you too closely, I think,” Danarius said. “I fear he will want to discuss your purchase. What do you think his motive is for his sudden interest?”

“He is...foolish,” Fenris said carefully, “yet I think he realizes, unlike his mother, that you are a brilliant man. He wishes to court favor with you.”

His lie pleased Danarius. His master smiled and hummed contentedly.

“The queen has never liked me,” Danarius said, “and the late king was even worse. The whole family are fools, but if this boy does wish to court my favor, perhaps he is wiser than I thought him to be.”

Fenris nodded silently.

Danarius did not take him to bed, and Fenris lay awake on his mattress, too uncomfortable to sleep. Hawke was here because of him, clearly, and he was wasting his time. Fenris was afraid of what would happen were Hawke's interest to be discovered. 

Fenris curled up under his blanket and pressed himself against the foot of the bed, squeezing his eyes shut in an attempt to sleep. As early morning slowly approached, he heard Danarius mumble his name. Throwing off his sheet, he went to stand beside the bed.

“I need you, Fenris,” Danarius muttered, reaching groggily from under his heavy covers. Fenris was quick to slide in, his aching body sinking gratefully into the mattress.

“Your hands are cold!” Danarius exclaimed, “keep them off me.” Fenris felt the icy grip of magic seize his arms, twisting them behind him. He grunted as sore muscles protested to the forced movement.

The pain settled into a dull ache as warmth began to settle into him. Danarius was still half-asleep. He wanted little more than another body beside him and to stroke Fenris’ hair.

Even so, it was enough to please him. Fenris woke to Danarius pushing himself upright beside him. He gasped as the magical grasp on his arms released him. His hands were numb and his arms tingled.

“You've done well, Fenris,” Danarius said. Fenris pushed himself from the bed and dropped to the floor, his face pressed to the floorboards.

“You are too kind to me, Master,” he mumbled.

 

Hawke staggered into his mother's room, hair messy and bedclothes twisted around him. His mother was already dressed.

“Whatever are you doing?” She asked him,laughing. “Have you only just woken up?”

“I had such terrible dreams,” he groaned.

“You've been absent a lot the last few days,” Leandra said, pulling him to her in a hug. “Did you meet someone pretty at the party?” She said softly into his hair.

“Mother, you have no idea.”

“If you're going to go out chasing her, you should at least be presentable.”

“ _ Him _ , mother.”

“Oh, the lucky man!” She took her son's face in her hands and held it away. “Why do you look so distressed? He didn't turn you down did he?”

“I can't pursue him, mother. He isn't free.”

She gasped. “He's  _ married _ !?”

“No, he's a slave,” the prince groaned.

“It's illegal to keep slaves,” his mother said. “How did you meet him?”

“He was at the party. I don't know how, but he was there. I danced with him. But now he won't even look at me. He told me to forget it. Somehow, Danarius is keeping him as a slave without calling it that.”

“Danarius! That rat! Malcolm did nothing but fight with him. Now we just ignore each other. He was forced to give up his slaves. He keeps servants now. Or he's supposed to be.”

“He's supposedly a servant, but one of the servants I talked to said he's really a slave.”

“And you love him?”

“I can think of nothing but him. I dreamed of him, but my dreams were terrible. He's treated horribly there! I saw him beaten yesterday. All blood and torn skin. And those tattoos…”

“You're not talking about Fenris are you?”

“You know him?”

“He was the last slave Danarius bought before we forced him to give up slavery. He was Leto then. I didn't know he was still alive.”

“Leto?”

“Danarius had a wicked idea of infusing lyrium into a slave's body and making him into a weapon. He was forbidden, of course. He went against Malcolm’s orders though and did it anyway, renaming the poor man ‘Fenris.’ I went with your father to talk to him. The poor fellow seemed to be on his deathbed. He had those burning lines all over his body, and they were all bleeding. He did nothing but moan. We told Danarius either put him out of his misery or put him among the servants and let him have the closest thing he could to a happy life. It seems Danarius did neither of those things. This was several years ago, just before your father died. I never had the heart to go back.”

“We have to do something now.”

“Oh, darling, I wish I could. That man is relentless. Your father was much more persuasive than I am, and you see Danarius didn't even listen to him.”

“Can't we catch him on a technicality? If I could prove he's keeping a slave, aren't there consequences?”

“Well of course, the slave would have to be freed, and the master would be required to compensate him as the court sees fit. All that in addition to a heavy fine.”

“And some proof has to exist? Isn't the fact that he wears a collar proof enough?”

Leandra shuddered. “Unfortunately, he can argue that it is a part of the servant's uniform. It's a gross technicality, but he can.”

“Does he have papers or something then? Something to indicate ownership?”

“He must, otherwise the man could quit and leave and Danarius couldn't legally bring him back. Though just producing the papers would damn him as a slave owner.”

“So if I take him, Danarius can't take him back?”

“Slaves can't marry, son,” Leandra said gently.

“But if Danarius doesn't dare prove it, he will be as good as free.” Hawke was much more awake now, eyes sparkling, pacing his mother's room.

“ _ Son _ , he wears a collar, does he not?”

“Well yes, so?”

“A slave property title is a magical document, binding the slave to its master. The collar can't be removed so long as that document exists.”

“He wore no collar at the party!”

“I don't know how he managed that, but it can't be removed.”

“Then that fact alone should prove that he's a slave. We'll demand that Danarius produce the documents.”

Leandra shook her head, sighing.

“In theory, it should work,” she said, “but you'll find Danarius is not so simple. He'll find endless reasons he must miss his court dates and he can drag it out so that it's not even worth the effort. He's very clever.”

“I will do it,” Hawke vowed. He went to get dressed, calling a servant to have his horse prepared. He had an errand to run before going to see Danarius.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke joins Danarius for dinner and tries to find a way to free his 'cinderella' from his master.

“Hawke!” Varric grinned in delight. “It's been awhile since I've seen you here.”

“I have been busy the last few days,” the prince said, leaping from his horse. “I need your help.”

They were sitting inside the Hanged Man, the cozy pub that Varric owned, leaning together at a table in the corner. Hawke had just explained his plight to the sympathetic dwarf. Varric was grave.

“You don't really know Danarius, do you?”

“I have to do something.”

“Hawke, if he so much as suspects that you're after his property, he'll torture the poor guy just to spite you. And you'll probably just  _ happen _ to be there when it happens, and Fenris will know exactly why he's doing it. He'll know it's because of you. You said he already asked you to drop it. He knows.”

“I  _ can't _ . Varric, every time I see him, I want to hold him again. When we danced, his eyes—He smiled and that smile was worth more than all the gold in the kingdom. I don't think even _ he _ knew he could smile and that he could break me into pieces like shattered glass.”

“And I thought  _ I  _ was poetic.”

“You'll help me, won't you?”

“You've got your heart set on breaking this poor man's heart?”

“I am going to save him. We just need to find where Danarius keeps the paper.”

“You do know that that little piece of paper is probably the single most protected possession he has?”

“I'm determined, Varric.”

“Well, who am I to deny the prince’s demands?”

Varric chuckled and grabbed Hawke's elbow, pulling him closer.

“If you're really serious, Hawke, we will have to be very careful.  _ Very  _ careful. Danarius is always suspicious, and Hadriana, his apprentice, is a vicious watchdog. Both of them keep close tabs on the man in question, so you'll have your hands full trying to get past them. I'd guess he's also got wards around the paperwork. We'll need a magician.”

“Okay.”

“You said you're going there today?”

“We're having dinner.”

“This is short notice, but we could try to sneak in while you're with him and sniff around. I'll get my magician friend and the two of us will see what we can do.”

Hawke beamed at his friend. “You're the best, Varric!”

“I expect full support from your family if we get caught. I'm not getting in trouble for helping you with your complicated romance.”

“It's hardly a romance yet at this point. It's more about basic human rights.”

“And romance,” Varric added.

“A little.”

“Give me half an hour, I'll go get Blondie,” Varric said. “He'll be in for sure.”

“Meet me at the palace,” Hawke said, standing to leave. “I'll have you pretend to be my servants. And then you can sneak off once I'm inside.”

 

Fenris’ arms were more sore than they had been in a long while. Danarius had sent him to wash himself up in preparation for the evening. Fenris dearly hoped Danarius didn't mean to have him strip in order to display his handiwork. He didn't want Hawke to see just how completely he belonged to Danarius. It was evident enough as it was.

He returned to find Danarius still writing. He was constantly keeping up his correspondence with other lords, hoping someday the royal house would fall, preparing for when it did, keeping his allies close to him. Fenris knelt by the door, waiting.

Danarius ignored him until Hawke's arrival was announced. Looking down, Danarius could see the prince coming through the gate on his white charger, dressed in his best, accompanied by two servants, a tall, lanky blond and a dwarf. Danarius entered to find just Hawke. His servants had been left with the horse. Danarius grinned and gestured to the main hall.

“Let us enjoy some time together as we wait to be called to dinner,” he said. “The preparations have been taking place all day. It is sure to be a true masterpiece.”

“I expected nothing less from your grandeur,” Hawke said, allowing Danarius to direct him into a large comfortable room with a blazing fire and a collection of large, comfortable chairs.

Fenris followed his master, little more than a shadow at his shoulder. He settled into place behind him when Danarius selected for himself a red armchair. Hawke stood by the fire, examining the carvings around the fireplace.

“I am surprised I have never seen you at any of our festive parties,” Hawke said absently. “You are certainly as impressive as any other lord I have met.”

Danarius smiled with an obsequious dip of his head.

“Surely you're aware of the disagreement I had with your father? I'm less than welcome in the palace.”

“I have heard only little,” Hawke said, still looking into the fire. “I heard nothing to cause dislike. It was some matter of servants, wasn't it?”

“ _ Slaves _ ,” Danarius said bitterly, gritting his teeth. “I had an impressive collection. It was all in order. I did nothing to invite argument. I kept well to myself. It is not the business of others what I did with my property.”

“That sounds reasonable, certainly,” Hawke said. “But truly what is the difference between a servant and a slave, then? Aren't they equally indebted to your kindness?”

Fenris ventured a glance at Hawke and caught him looking back at him. He hurriedly threw his gaze to the ground. Danarius frowned.

“Of course I am as generous now as I was then. You can see how well my servants are treated. The question comes down to cost. Rather than paying upfront for a slave, for a servant I must continually be emptying my pockets, though they are already given food and lodging, all they could need.”

Hawke hummed thoughtfully.

“I apologize for my ignorance in these matters,” he said. “Since my father's death, such things are never talked of.”

“In truth,” Danarius said, “if anything, one has greater moral obligation for a slave, as one is solely responsibility for their well-being. I admit, since the change, I think less of my servants than before.” He glanced aside at Fenris.

“This servant,” Hawke said, lingering briefly on the word, “is dressed unlike others I have seen.”

“He is my bodyguard,” Danarius said, smiling. “He makes an impressive figure. His uniform is designed to best display this.”

“It is striking,” Hawke said. He saw Fenris swallow, a subtle shift in the pale lines on his throat behind the collar.

Once they were seated at dinner, Hawke had more chance to observe Fenris. He stood as still as a statue beside his master, stone-faced. Stiff, too, if the occasional shift in his stance meant anything. 

Shortly after they sat, Hadriana had come to join them. Hawke had been introduced to her and was now able to see the sharp way her eyes raked over Fenris when Danarius wasn't looking. Fenris very pointedly avoided looking at her.

Hawke lingered over his compliments on the food, the settings, the room. He tried very hard not to look at the man standing beside Danarius. He wondered how Anders and Varric were faring, whether they had found anything. He imagined returning home to have them produce the document itself to him. He would call Danarius to court tomorrow, and Fenris would be free before the sun set again. He smiled to himself.

“What amuses you?” Danarius asked.

“Oh, my mother seemed to think I should not come see you,” Hawke lied, “but I find the company most enjoyable.”

“I am most flattered, highness,” Danarius said. “Your patronage is a high honor.”

Hawke was more than ready to leave several hours later. Danarius had served a fine wine that had Hawke pleasantly warm, but then he had also insisted on giving a demonstration of Fenris’ abilities. He first had him strip so that he could show off the lines curving over his body. Fenris was pained at that, though he strained not to show it. He had been very quick to dress again, more than happy to follow them back into the hall and sit beside his master, indulging him with careful kisses when asked. He pretended that Hawke wasn't there. This routine was familiar enough.

Danarius’ breath was heavy with the smell of the wine and Fenris flinched from each touch. So often, touches were accompanied by the pain of magic under his skin. But he let Danarius kiss him and obliged his desires to be fondled. Fenris had discarded his armor and sat against his master in his black leggings and tunic. This would surely convince the prince to stop coming. Hawke didn't know where to look, and Hadriana was outright staring. Danarius carried on the conversation as if nothing out of the ordinary was happening.

Hawke frowned as soon as he left the room, excusing himself with the complaint that he was still tired from the hunt the previous day.

“How did it go?” Varric asked once they had left the manor.

“Disgusting,” Hawke sputtered. “I hate the man more every minute. Fenris just stands there and  _ takes  _ it.”

“Captivity makes a man into something he isn't proud of,” Anders said.

“Did you find anything?” Hawke asked, slumping on his horse.

“Well it's probably in his study,” Varric said. “We couldn't go anywhere near it there because of all the magic around there.”

“Is it really worth it?” Anders said. “I'm not sure I can disarm those spells without tripping something. They're blood magic, which means he's dabbling in dangerous magic. I won't touch the stuff, myself.”

“I'm more sure than ever,” Hawke said.

“We'll go back then,” Varric said, nudging Anders, who reluctantly nodded. “Tonight.”

“I can't thank you enough,” Hawke said. The other two were taking horses on their trip through the forest. It was dark, and not even the moon was visible through the heavy clouds.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris gets bold and Hawke gets desperate.

Fenris lay pressed against Danarius’ back. Danarius had laughed and mocked the prince for quite a while, continuing in his consumption of wine for several hours after his disappearance. Then he had taken Fenris to bed. Fenris was slick with a thin layer of sweat, and Danarius’ skin was clammy and soft. Fenris just hoped that Hawke had given up. He’d left so suddenly—it could only mean he had been disgusted with what he saw.

Fenris had only just gone to sleep when Danarius jerked upright.

“Someone’s tripped the ward,” he growled.

Fenris lay completely still. The ward lay around Danarius’ study. He would have no one near that room. He didn’t think that Fenris knew, but Fenris remembered. He had still been bleeding from the ritual and could barely stand upright, as weak as a newborn, but Danarius already had him following him around, limping and clutching at his aching limbs.

Danarius had only taken him in there that one time. Fenris had stood against the door and had watched through half-open eyes as Danarius pulled the metal tube from its case, pulled off one end, and removed the sheet of paper.

“I will own slaves if I want,” he had muttered, smiling over it. “Old Malcolm can’t stop me.”

That was all Fenris had seen, but he knew from that moment that it was him on that paper.

And now someone had tripped the ward. _Hawke_.

“ _Hadriana!_ ” But the flurry of footsteps told him that Hadriana was already on her way. As she flew down the stairs, she screamed.

Danarius was up, throwing on his robe, rage spilling off of him in waves.

He went to the door, and stopped. Fenris slid silently from the bed and pressed himself against the wall, eyes wide. Suddenly possibilities swam before his eyes that he had never dared to even _think_ of. He thought about that night, at the palace. He had felt so light without the collar.

Danarius whirled on him.

“Fenris, get down there, and kill whoever is in my study.”

Fenris nodded, running, bending to pick up his sword on the way. He ran, naked, down towards the study. But by the time he got there, the intruders were gone, and it was just Hadriana.

He heard Danarius screaming from his room further up in the manor as Hadriana grabbed at him, his brands igniting painfully. He clutched his sword and staggered back. She grinned, all teeth.

“You’ll get cold running around like that,” she said, “better run back up to your den before I try to warm you up myself.” He didn’t wait. He ran.

“They were after my research,” Danarius muttered. “Put the sword away.”

They hadn’t been after his research, though, Fenris thought, following Danarius back to bed. Danarius clung to him, Fenris sucking in sharp breaths as Danarius curled against him, scouring his brands with magic. His momentary dream of escape ran out of him like water through sand.

 

The horses came thundering back. Hawke threw himself upright from where he had been slouched against the outer wall.

“He caught us,” Anders shouted as they rode up. “The ward alerted him when we disarmed it.”

“We ran, but I think he saw us,” Varric added. “He was screaming something awful from his window.”

“I'll wait a day and I'll go visit him again,” Hawke said anxiously. “He didn't know what you were after, did he?”

“Who knows what he thought?” Varric said, dropping from his horse. “This isn't going to work.”

“I'll think of something,” Hawke said. “Thank you both. Please, keep the horses.”

Leandra could do nothing to shake her son from his mood the following  morning.

“You're being ridiculous,” she said. “I told you Danarius was impossible.”

Hawke just shook her off and kept pacing.

The day passed away slowly. He wanted to go to Danarius, just so he could see Fenris again, but he forced himself to wait. He wandered outside the walls and was standing at the edge of the forest at sunset. Everything dripped with red. He was breaking leaves from the trees and systematically tearing them to shreds when he heard the sound of something approaching through the trees. Moments later, Fenris broke through the underbrush, his leggings and tunic torn from the branches, hair wild.

Hawke smiled and ran towards him. Fenris stumbled forward, clutching something to his chest. He thrust it at Hawke, who took it automatically. A metal tube, sealed on both ends.

“A message? Is this from Danarius?”

Hawke almost dropped it, trying to grab Fenris and embrace him. The elf was panting, eyes wide with terror. Fenris pushed him away, fumbling instead for the tube. Wrapping his smaller hands around Hawke's,  he shook the tube. And then suddenly he yelped, falling backwards to land heavily on the ground.

“Fenris!” Fenris started sliding backwards into the trees, slowly at first pulled by some invisible force. His fingers scrabbled at his collar and his mouth fell open, soundless. Hawke started after him, but Fenris let go of the collar to hold up a hand, motioning  him to stop.

“Help!” He pointed at Hawke's hands. He was being pulled faster now, and his feet kicked at the ground, trying to ease the pressure on his throat. Hawke dropped the metal tube and ran for him. He grabbed Fenris’ wrists and tried to pull him back. Fenris choked and shook his head violently. “Hawke!”

“No! Don’t go!” Hawke dug in his heels. Fenris gasped, the collar throwing his head back.

“Let go!” Hawke gasped, and released him. Fenris grabbed at branches as he went, trying to keep himself from twisting onto his stomach as he was now being simply dragged back by some invisible chain. Hawke fell to his knees. A few moments later Fenris was out of sight, though Hawke could hear him going for several minutes.

Hawke went back, his face scrunched to keep from crying. He kicked at the metal tube. What would Fenris need to give him so badly? He picked it up and weighed it in his hand. It was light, hollow he thought. When he shook it, there seemed to be nothing inside. He trudged back into the palace, throwing himself down at the long dining table. He pulled at one end of the tube, twisting it until it came loose. A thick sheet of rolled paper slid partway out. He removed it and unrolled it.

“Deed of Ownership” it read in fine red calligraphy across the top. Hawke choked and scanned the page.

It was a binding contract declaring the slave Leto to be the sole and complete property of Danarius. The paper was suddenly heavy in Hawke's hands. He wanted to cry. Had Fenris risked his life to bring him this? It was unquestionable proof that Danarius was breaking the law owning a slave, but at what price?

Hawke ran to his mother. She would know what to do.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It has to get worse before it can get better. Danarius learns his lesson.

Fenris sobbed, sagging against the cell wall, supported only by the metal cuffs on his wrists. His legs had given out long ago. And still the pain continued. He shuddered, screaming as yet another wave of fire ran up his aching spine. Danarius was sleeping, but his spell didn't sleep. Fenris tried to get his feet under him, but his muscles refused to hold him. Sometime in the early morning, the cuffs released him and he fell to the floor, shaking and curling in on himself.

The space between then and the time when Danarius came to him was bliss in comparison to what waited for him. He let Hadriana at him first, and Danarius set no boundaries on what she was allowed to do. He only stood to the side and watched. Hadriana was less creative than Danarius. She simply delighted in pain. Seeing Fenris writhe with drool dribbling from his soundless scream sent her into a fit of laughter. Fenris clutched at his stomach, shuddering, tears streaming from his eyes.

Danarius was more tempered in his administration of pain, but it was far worse. He relished the anticipation of pain, watching as Fenris sat trapped, unable to look away, waiting sometimes full minutes for pain he knew was coming. Fenris screamed for Hadriana, but he knew better than to do so for Danarius. He bit his lip until blood ran down his chin but didn't make a sound.

A servant came to interrupt Danarius’ punishment.

“Prince Hawke has come to see you,” the servant said.

“Bring him down,” Danarius said, wiping sweat from his forehead. “And call someone else to bring me another bucket of salt water.”

“You don't intend to turn against me, do you, Hawke?” Danarius asked when he heard Hawke come in behind him.

“It's illegal,” Hawke said, stopping short when he saw Fenris collapsed on the floor, the barely-healed cuts on his back all torn open and bleeding again, and covering much more of his body than before.

“You wouldn't want him to die would you?”

“You wouldn't.”

“Wouldn't I?” Danarius raised an eyebrow. He worked his hands and Fenris whined as his tender back was slammed against the cell wall. Danarius’ magic pulled him upright and turned him so that he was looking at the wall. His legs could barely hold him. He rubbed his face against the wall, squirming as his arms were forced behind him. A metal cuff clattered from its place in the corner of the cell and snapped around his wrists. He sank to his knees, panting.

“This is plain and simple abuse,” Hawke said, stepping forward.

Danarius picked up the bucket of salt water and tossed the water into the cell. It sluiced down Fenris’ back and Fenris slammed his head against the wall, biting back a scream..

Hawke gritted his teeth.

“Why don't you return my document to me and we forget all about this?” Danarius said.

“Why are you doing this? I’m the one who has what you want.”

“He knew exactly what he was doing,” Danarius said. “He's never committed such a grave offense before. I really should have just killed him, but I'm a little attached. I'd rather not do that unless I have to.” He rolled his head to look at Hawke.

Hawke balled his fists until his nails dug into his palms.

“Give me a day,” Hawke said.

“You've stolen something of mine,” Danarius growled. “I should kill him here and now. If I don't have that deed by sunset, he dies.”

“I'll see you pay for this,” Hawke said, turning to leave.

“Hawke,” Fenris’ voice halted him, rough and gasped out. Hawke turned. Fenris didn't move. “Hawke, no.”

“Silence!” Danarius screamed, storming into the cell to kick him in the back. Fenris doubled forward, sucking in a painful breath.

Hawke ran.

 

“What's this?” Leandra asked, when Hawke handed her the metal tube.

“Proof that Danarius owns a slave,” Hawke said, “but he's threatening to kill Fenris if I try to use it against him. He's already beaten him. I don't know what to do.”

Hawke dropped into a chair as his mother removed and read the single sheet of paper.

“We can send some men to place Fenris under protection until Danarius has a chance to stand trial,” Leandra said. “No one can see him and he'll be safe.”

“Please, Danarius is going to kill him.”

Leandra handed the deed back to her son and scowled, rolling up her sleeves.

“I had hoped I wouldn't have to deal with that man after watching Malcolm battle him for months on end, but Danarius leaves me no choice,” she said. “If he thinks he can get away with this just because my husband is dead, he's in for a shock.”

 

Fenris was nearly unconscious when the guards arrived. A silencing spell was placed on Danarius as they ran in to grab him. Danarius shouted and kicked, but they overpowered him. A pair of men ran to Fenris and pulled him to his feet. When it became apparent that he couldn't stand, he was lifted and carried to the second of the two awaiting carriages. The first was for Danarius, who struggled, cursing, yelling that he'd done nothing wrong.

The men kept asking Fenris if he was alright, but he couldn't answer. They carried him into the palace and secured some clothes for him.

Hawke tried to get in to see him, but no one was allowed in. They might let in a healer, though. Hawke rode into town for Anders and brought him back, insisting they let him in to assess Fenris’ injuries.

Finally, one of the guards relented, as Fenris was still incoherent, groaning and writhing in pain.

Hawke was waiting in the hall when Anders emerged.

“He'll pull through,” Anders said. “I couldn't do much. Whatever that stuff is all over his skin seems to translate my magic into pain for him. He seems a bit more conscious though. I've done all I can. Just let him rest now.”

 

The trial took place the following morning. When the title of ownership was produced, Danarius had no argument. He was found guilty. 

Fenris was propped up between two guards opposite his master. He was brought forward after the determination was made. Leandra presided, looking more regal than she had since the king had died. She burned the paper and the collar around Fenris’ neck crumbled to ash.

Fenris’ eyes lit up as he realized exactly what that meant.

Danarius was fined and a very generous sum was decided upon as his recompense to Fenris, to be paid within the week with the penalty of a second heavy fine if he did not.

As Leandra finished and the room fell silent, clapping could be heard from the back of the room. Flemeth stood, grinning benevolent and clapping her pale hands enthusiastically.

“Your dear husband would be proud,” she said. “I owed him a favor, and I think this completes my debt. To be completely honest, the whole slavery thing never sat well with me anyway. I quite agreed with him, but time just got away from me. I meant to do this years ago. Ah well, it seems that the timing wasn't so bad anyway.”

And she disappeared in a puff of smoke that left the people around her coughing.


	8. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because I had to write some fluff to top it all off <3

Fenris rolled over.

“Hawke, what are you doing?”

“I’m just so glad you’re here.”

“You’re tickling me,” Fenris said, offering one of the smiles that Hawke treasured. He already looked so much healthier. His bright green eyes and his white hair lit up in the early morning light.

“Your scars are healing so well.”

“I’d never be here if it weren’t for you.” Fenris slid closer to Hawke and let Hawke throw an arm across him. Fenris pressed a palm against Hawke’s chest.

“I am so lucky,” Hawke said, “that you showed up at that party. You gave me something to fight for, something I wanted more than just my own happiness. I wanted yours, too. And here you are.” He looked down at the elf. “Are you happy?”

“Hawke, I couldn’t possibly _be_ happier. When I heard someone tripped the ward in the study, that was the first time I realized things _could_ change. And here you are.”

“I can’t believe the things he did to you.”

“I knew what I was doing. It worked. You came.” He smiled again and nuzzled against the dip between Hawke’s neck and shoulder.

“I think every duchess from here to Ferelden is crying right now,” Hawke said, grinning.

“Let them cry,” Fenris said, tipping his head up to steal a kiss. “You’re mine.”

“And you’ll never belong to anyone again.”

“I belong to _you_.”

“And I’m the luckiest man in the world,” Hawke said, closing his eyes as Fenris kissed him again.

“What do they call this feeling?” Fenris asked, brushing Hawke’s nose with his own.

“They call this ‘happily ever after,’” Hawke said, suddenly moving to seize Fenris’ face in his hands. “And no one’s going to take it from me.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm over on tumblr too [protect-him](http://protect-him.tumblr.com)


End file.
